


And From These Chains

by IronPagoda



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Supernatural crossover - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Minor Violence, Supernatural Crossover, implied past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronPagoda/pseuds/IronPagoda
Summary: Mark disappeared a month ago. Ethan's got the ritual to bring him back.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	And From These Chains

**Author's Note:**

> Angel Mark! Woo!  
> If I keep writing, Unus Annus will live forever.....right?

In the flyover state of Ohio, in a small town with only a post office to its name, there sits an old tire factory amongst the weeds and forgotten gas stations.

Ethan’s knees went from aching to downright miserable hours ago, but if he stops now he’ll never get it right. The chalk in his fingers has been worn down to a nub, but he digs it into the concrete with ferocity. When he thinks he’s got the symbols right, he fumbles a hand around for his notebook. Mark’s notebook, actually.

His eyes instinctively well up with tears, and he smears chalk across his face trying to wipe them away while forcing himself to try and read the entangled handwriting. “Come on, come on,” he hisses, nose nearly touching the page. If he weren’t so tired, maybe his eyes would work better. If he weren’t so fucking useless maybe he could’ve had this done earlier.

Claps of thunder stretch through the humidity, writhing in his ignorance as he slides the dish to the center of the circle, tossing in the ingredients with shaking hands. The circular sigil, split into four quadrants of four quadrants was never something he could never master. He prays to God that something, for once, might go right. 

As the wind rattles the rusted metal and sweeps in through the many holes in the roof, he swallows down a hysterical giggle. God’s the whole reason Mark was taken from him. 

He sobers when the final piece must be laid. With dirty fingers and a gentle touch, he removes the glasses from where they’ve hooked on the collar of his shirt. Simple black frames and lenses smudged with time, Ethan lays them before the bowl. 

Stepping out of the circle, he waits for the wind to die down before tossing a match into the dish, hissing as the flame licks at his fingertips. 

The sigil glows with a radioactive poison, and he takes a few cautious steps back, matchbook crumpled in his grip.

He can hear the sound of feathers rustling, announcing its holy presence and bearing a familiar face.

Before he loses his nerve, Ethan lays down another match, lighting the holy oil and ensnaring the flying asshole. 

It doesn’t look angry, merely annoyed by his presence. It turns in a slow half-circle to face him, hands folded neatly against its chest and moving with the exasperated sigh. “Oh,” it says blandly, turning its nose up, “What have you called me for?”

He forms tight fists at his side, chest heaving. The lingering fear in his chest burns away at the wildfire of hate. He hates that thing. He hates that it has Mark.

“Well? I assumed after all this time, you mud-monkeys learned how to speak.” It inspects its fingernails, polished and pristine like the stupid white suit it wears.  _ A little on the nose, don’t you think? _

“Let him go.” His voice quavers, bringing a smile to its face.

“I’m not holding him against his will, he prayed for this”

“No he  _ didn’t.”  _ Ethan spits the words like poison, eyes glowering into God’s holy detestation.

“Of course he did.” It speaks to him like a child, patronizing and slow, with a slight incline of its head to look down on him. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have been picked otherwise. Leviticus, twenty-two, verse eighteen, I believe.”

The clipped enunciation tells Ethan it was meant as an insult, but it’s lost on him. Standing his ground, he bares his teeth and snarls. “Let him  _ go!” _

“Was this really your plan? To  _ beg? _ ” It bends down to pick up his glasses, inspecting them with disdain. “You know, I’ve cured one hundred and seven people just in the last two days, I’ve been more successful than either of you. Don’t you want to see humanity saved?”

“You burned out their eyes.” His mouth forms a tight line, traitorous tears burning at the sight of Not-Mark. He wants to hug him, feel him close again. Feel safe. “You didn’t save anyone. You  _ killed _ them. They had  _ families-” _

“They were tainted. If God himself wants his holy creations, he’ll have them as they’re meant to be.” It draws up its lip in an ugly sneer, looking him up and down. “ _ Untainted _ .”

“They were possessed! It wasn’t….forget it.” He swings the jug of holy oil around, giving it a good look. “Let him go, or I barbeque you.”

“I doubt that would do you any good”

_ “Let him go!” _

It huffs, extending its arms and pacing around the circle. “No one is holding him against his will. But, why don’t we ask him?” There’s a malicious grin growing across its face, thinking about how clever it's being. “Oh  _ Maarrrkkk!  _ Would you like to come out?”

It puts a hand to its ear, listening for an imaginary sound amongst the fresh raindrops. “I assume that’s a ‘no’,” it croons. “See now?”

“Fuck you.”

Its mouth parts slightly, words forming in that overly enunciated voice, but something else catches its attention. 

The soft sizzle of rain falling into the fire makes Ethan’s breath catch in his throat.

As does the large hand wrapped firmly around his windpipe.

He’s lifted into the air, nails digging uselessly into the bare skin around its cuffs. It doesn’t lose the bored tone, watching him struggle with a blank expression. “You’re all so…. _ ungrateful.” _

Ethan slams into the ground, given no time to catch his breath before he’s pulled to his knees just to take a fist to his jaw. 

The wind knocked from him forms into a wheezy “Mark!” but the angel gives a breathless laugh.

“ _ Pathetic _ .”

Another punch lands to his temple. Ethan chokes out a sobbing gasp, eliciting no sympathy.

“ _ Weak _ .”

Another punch makes Ethan’s teeth feel numb.

“ _ Disgusting _ .”

One more sends him into the ground, coughing blood and feeling his cheekbones shift like gravel. A hand grabs on to the back of his collar, dragging his face through the dirt. He whimpers his name, growing louder with each step. 

It doesn’t falter.

Sliding him up the wall, again by a hand around his neck, it uses its free hand to flick the angel blade into its palm.

“Mark,” he pleads, blood and drool dripping from the corners of his mouth, “Mark no-”

The blade traces around the curves of his neck as it  _ hmms  _ and  _ hawes  _ over the weighty, yet simple, decision.

“Mark-” his voice cracks as he forces himself to look it in the eyes. “It’s gonna be okay, it’s okay, Mark-” his head falls, an ugly cry choking him as the hand tightens.

It draws the blade back, a forceful look of hatred masking out Mark’s soft eyes.

Ethan squeezes his eyes shut, mouth still parted in a feeble attempt to breathe.

The muffled clang of metal against dusted concrete barely reaches him over the ringing in his ears. 

He drops to the floor, legs curling protectively to his chest. Eyes fluttering in the weak light, crowded by dark splotches, he watches it stumble back. Its arms jolt outwards, whole body convulsing as a blinding white glow is pulled from its open mouth and flows towards the darkened sky.

Ethan drops his head down hastily, breathing in the mildewy floor and he covers his eyes. For a while, all he can hear is his own stuttered breathing, his hands pressed to his face as he curls up tight in pain.

“Ethan?” Someone says quietly, and it makes him want to cry harder.

He scrambles to his feet, stumbling into his arms and leaking snot and blood onto his ridiculous suit. “Oh shit,” he mumbles breathlessly. “Oh shit oh shit-”

“H-hey.” Mark grabs the back of his neck, pressing him tight against his chest. “It’s okay buddy, you’re okay-”

“You fucking asshole!” He draws his head back, grimacing from both sorrow and the pain in his face. “They had you. They had you!”

His brows furrow, nearly touching as he drops his head in shame. “I know,” he whispers hoarsely. “But...he said….he said you’d be safer-”

“You left!” Tears form canyons in the dirt on his face. “You just disappeared!”

“I never meant for this to happen, they tricked me. They showed me all these horrible things. Amy, you…. I-”

Ethan jams a finger into his chest. “Don’t  _ ever  _ do that  _ again.”  _ He forces air to move through him, his chest heaving. “Don’t you ever fucking do that!”

“I’m sorry. Eth I’m so sorry”

His head falls heavy into him, trembling shoulders drawing up around him. Mark wraps his arms around him slowly, securing his grip as the wind picks up around them.

* * *

Thirty five miles later, Mark’s got Ethan laying across him in a dingy motel bed as they listen to the storm outside. He winds his fingers through his brown hair, still damp from their shower to get the crud off of Ethan, and the ‘Angel Stink’ off of Mark.

He doesn’t have anything better to wear than the suit, so he’s been stripped to his boxers, Ethan following suit. The smaller man fits perfectly in the crook of his arm, and his battered head rises and falls with Mark’s chest. 

Tracing the freckles along his bare back, he listens to the subtle wheeze in his breath, still not deep enough to tell him he’s fallen asleep. There’s a forgotten ice pack on the nightstand, and a lifetime of guilt in his bones.

_ A whole month,  _ he thinks.

_ I’ve been gone an entire month. _

“Do you remember anything?” Ethan mumbles drowsily, perfectly content to let Mark run his hand up and down his spine.

“No,” he lies. 

“What was it like?”

“Like...being tied to a comet”

Ethan hums, nuzzling the area just under his throat. “M’hungry”

“Let’s just sleep.” Truthfully, he’s starving, but he can’t will himself to move.

“Yeah,” he sighs, thumbing over Mark’s warding. “Gonna have to add on to that”

He chuckles. “Yours too”

“Ugh.”

Mark smiles weakly, resting his eyes for a moment before speaking up. “Hey, uh….thanks for coming back to get me.”

“Of course.” Ethan props himself up on his elbows, a slight warmth to his face despite the cool light filtering in through the moth-eaten curtains. “You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”

He presses his head back down to his chest, feeling his words reverberate against Ethan from the buzz in his throat. “Yeah, okay. G’night.”

“G’night.”

  
  



End file.
